


Like A Concrete Fever

by Matriaya



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: A wee bit of smut, Bathroom Sex, But Also Boys Being Soft, Established Relationship, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matriaya/pseuds/Matriaya
Summary: ChuckieT: Think Trent would notice if I crawled under the table and sucked your dick?Orange has a mozz stick half way to his mouth when he hears the ding, and checks the text, and the stick sort of freezes there, hand not moving as Orange reads the text, and then reads it again.
Relationships: Orange Cassidy/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Like A Concrete Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [or-ng-c-ss-dy (o_r_ng_c_ss_dy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_r_ng_c_ss_dy/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, M!!  
> Title from _East of Eden_ by Zella Day

Chuck’s favorite thing is when Orange gets so turned on, he forgets how to function. 

No, scratch that. That’s not quite true. His favorite thing is when this happens, and it’s Chuck who makes it happen, preferably somewhere public. They’re in their usual booth at  _ Devin’s _ , Orange hemmed in on both sides by Chuck and Trent.

Trent is trying very hard to eyefuck a girl over by the bar, smiling in his awkward way that tries to convey coy but honestly shoots a little more towards creepy. Chuck would never correct him. Bar Girl seems kind of into it anyway, if the way she tosses her hair and blinks flirtily at him over her drink is any indication. Which is to say, Trent is definitely not paying attention to either of them. Orange is half watching the basketball game above the bar, half pawing at the plate of mozzarella sticks in front of them when Chuck sends him the first text.

_ ChuckieT: Think Trent would notice if I crawled under the table and sucked your dick? _

Orange has a mozz stick half way to his mouth when he hears the ding, and checks the text, and the stick sort of freezes there, hand not moving as Orange reads the text, and then reads it again. 

Chuck’s second favorite thing is Orange’s blush. It’s beautiful, honestly, and he’s chased the pattern with his mouth so many times over the past few months he knows what each stage means. Just the cheeks for embarrassment. Creeping down the neck when Orange is turned on. A full flush nearly to his nipples when he’s close to coming. This one makes it half way down his throat like the weirdest neckbeard, and Chuck just smirks as he grabs the stick out of Orange’s frozen hand and pops it in his mouth. 

Orange doesn’t look at him though, just wipes his hand on his pants and types a reply.

_ OC: dude. wtf.  _

Apparently Bar Girl got joined by some friends and stopped making eyes at Trent, he looks back over at them, disappointed.

“Next time, buddy,” Chuck says, grabbing another mozz. “Plenty of other girls. Night’s still young.” 

He puts it in his mouth and bites down slow, darting his eyes over to the game but knowing full well Orange is watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

_ OC: fuck u. stop being so hot. _

Chuck will never quite get over the fact that Orange Cassidy, objectively the hottest dude Chuck has ever seen in real life, somehow got tricked into thinking he was hot. 

_ ChuckieT: think i could make you cum in less than a minute? _

Chuck is the king of multitasking. He can plan grocery trips while wrestling. He can choreograph wrestling matches in his head while playing PS4. So when he runs his fingers slowly up the inseam of Orange’s jeans, letting his stubby nails scratch along the denim, he can absolutely carry on a conversation with Trent like nothing’s happening. 

Orange is losing his goddamn mind. It’s  _ beautiful _ . 

Chuck doesn’t full-on give him a handie under the table, although he very much wants to. Orange is hard in his jeans already, and when Chuck presses the heel of his hand against his bulge, Orange chokes, and has to suck in a mouthful of beer to cover it. His flush creeps incrementally further, and god, Chuck wants to lick it. 

He’s gonna catch hell later for teasing Orange, pressing down hard, and then rubbing his thumb feather light over his dick over his jeans, but he’s obsessed with the way he can watch Orange’s ears turn progressively darker shades of red the longer he goes on. When he pulls his fingers away finally, he’s surprised to feel Orange clamp a hand around his wrist, pinning him in place. And oh, fuck, he keeps a straight goddamn face as he does it too, pretending to rearrange himself a little in the booth but actuall bucking up into Chuck’s fingers.

Chuck is not really a patient guy. He wants to be, honestly, he does. He tries. But when he feels Orange’s fingers clamp iron hard around his wrist, feel him fuck up into Chuck’s hand with such nonchalance that Trent doesn’t even catch on?

Jesus Christ. He’s only human. He’s not built for this. So he does the first thing that comes to mind, which is to slosh a bit of his beer into their laps. It’s warm, thank fuck, and not a whole bunch of it gets on them, but it’s enough for Orange to yelp, and shimmy half way up the seatback to get away from the onslaught.

“Shit!” Chuck is a decent actor when he needs to be. “Fuck, I’m so sorry dude.” He gives a little laugh, casual, like it was an accident. Look, see how clumsy I am. The glare Orange shoots him seems very real, though. 

“Move your ass,” he growls. “I’ve gotta clean up now.” 

Chuck manages to smother his grin.

“Yeah, shit, good idea.” and then points at Trent. “Don’t eat all the mozz sticks while we’re gone. Or at least order more.” 

Trent gives him the middle finger, but is already focused on the game again. 

Orange says nothing as they make their way through the bar to the bathroom in the far back corner. Doesn’t even look at Chuck, just frowns down at his shoes as he pushes the bathroom door open harder than he needs to, and begins checking stalls. All empty. 

“Look, man, I really am sorry,” Chuck starts, though his canary eating grin says otherwise, “I thought it’d be a good…”

Orange is shorter than him, not as broad, but muscled as fuck beneath his t-shirt, and and so it takes very little effort for Orange to shove him back against the bathroom door, press into his space.

“Fuck you, Chuck,” his voice is low, and kind of mean, and it’s a huge turn-on. Chuck can’t help but grin into the rapidly diminishing space between them, and then Orange’s mouth is on his, hands fisting in Chuck’s shirt, and he groans.

Every single time. He thinks it will get old, the novelty will wear off, that kissing Orange will eventually become commonplace, or routine, but it lights him on fire every single time. Orange’s hair beneath his fingers is a little sweaty, a little greasy. He fucking loves it. 

“Stop being so distracting then,” Chuck grins as he breaks away just for a minute, and then reaches down and hauls Orange up. Immediately, Orange wraps his legs around Chuck’s waist, arms around his neck, kissing the everloving fuck out of him like they might die if they stop, and Chuck has to navigate the only semi-familiar terrain of the bathroom without looking. He maneuvers them into a stall, awkward, and not at all graceful, but Orange moans as his back hits the wall of the stall, and jesus, Chuck can’t bring himself to care about anything else. Orange thumps his head hard against the wall as Chuck buries his face in Orange’s neck, scraping along the tendon with his teeth. He wants to mark him, leave a huge purple bruise on Orange’s pale skin so that everyone in the bar would know Orange is  _ his.  _ His boyfriend. His lover. His to mark, and to ruin, and to love. 

He doesn’t, though. Settles instead for licking at the red splotches from earlier. 

He fucking loves Orange like this. Losing his goddamn mind in the most inconvenient place. Completely undone for him. 

Chuck lets out a low groan as Orange drops his hips just slightly so their dicks line up, and then bucks hard up against Chuck, pressing his back into the stall for leverage. Chuck’s not drunk enough to think fully fucking Orange in the bathroom is a good idea, but when Orange reaches one hand up to grab at the top of the stall, puts the other around Chuck’s neck, and puts all he’s got into rubbing himself off on Chuck… Chuck really, really wishes he could. 

He just stares for a minute, open mouthed, at Orange, who has his eyes screwed shut, panting heavily. The flush has shot down past his neck and disappeared beneath his t-shirt. Later, when they’re in the privacy of Chuck’s bedroom, when Chuck has time to really take him apart, he will continue his mental catalog of The Many Stages of A Red Orange. Now, though, he is desperate to make those moans that Orange has trapped behind his teeth come to the surface.

Orange actually pouts a little when Chuck pulls his hips back, eases Orange slowly to the ground on slightly shaky legs. 

Chuck lets them both pause, then, cups Orange’s face in his hands, and kisses him once, slow and warm.

“You’re stupidly pretty, you know.” he murmurs with a soft smile. Orange grins up at him and punches him lightly on the arm.

“Shut up,” Orange smirks, then Chuck turns him around and Orange barely has time to put his hands on the wall before Chuck has a hand down his pants.

They both groan way louder than they meant to. It’s a tight fucking squeeze in this cubicle, and Chuck plasters his entire front up against Orange’s back as he tucks his face against the side of Orange’s head.

“A minute? You wanna time me?” he whispers into Orange’s ear, and then he’s pumping his fist hard, too dry, not enough room to maneuver really, but Orange is bucking his hips anyway, thrusting up into his fist and it’s so fucking hot Chuck can’t breathe. 

Chuck’s favorite thing is when Orange gets so turned on, he forgets how to function.

Like now, when he forgets to be quiet and let’s a low moan slip between those pretty lips. 

When his nails practically dig trenches into the faded green paint of the stall as he tips his head back, leans it on Chuck’s shoulder, visibly shaking. 

When Orange comes, he grabs Chuck by the hair, yanks him forward hard, smashes their mouths together so he can muffle his own groan as his whole body trembles. 

“ _ Jesus fuck, that was so fucking hot baby, fuck, you’re so god damn pretty, holy shit.” _

Anything and everything that comes into his mind spills out of Chuck’s mouth like water as he strokes Orange through the last of his orgasm, and then wipes his cum-laden hand on the wall and wraps both arms around Orange’s chest. 

They can’t stay there long. They’re in a goddamn public bathroom, and Trent will only be distracted by the game for so long. Orange’s fingers fumble as he buttons up his pants. It takes him three tries. Chuck presses a kiss against his shoulder through his t-shirt, runs a soothing hand down his arm. 

He honestly has no idea if anyone came into the bathroom while they were busy, but he pokes his head out now to find it deserted. He washes his hands, and Orange just stares at him in the mirror, eyes a mix of fondness and heat. He doesn’t say anything. 

Chuck is still hard when they get back to the table, when he slides in next to Orange again, and downs half of his ice water in one go. 

Trent had ordered a new set of mozz sticks as well as some buffalo wings. Score.

Chuck looks up, ready to make some lame excuse about how there was a line, and it took them forever to get the beer out, but Trent just rolls his eyes.

“You guys are ridiculous,” is all Trent says before biting down on a chicken wing and stripping it in one go. 

Orange just shrugs, and smiles down into his beer. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> In his bedside table is a little notebook where Chuck keeps actual notes on The Many Stages of A Red Orange.  
> Orange has never seen it.


End file.
